


Grasping At Straws

by sexywiddlebaby



Category: The Derp Crew
Genre: Drinks, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexywiddlebaby/pseuds/sexywiddlebaby
Summary: Anthony: a man unable to put a straw through his cup lid. Steven: a man that is able to.
[For derpydoodlez (Tumblr).][020]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [D3rpD3rp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D3rpD3rp/gifts).



> Soft boys.  
> I haven't been keeping track of either of them for a while...maybe I should catch up.
> 
> Written using the distraction-free powers of [CalmyWriter Online](https://www.calmlywriter.com/online/). (No, I'm not sponsored to say this.)

Steven pokes a green straw through the top of his freshly served iced tea. It takes minimal effort as he stirs ice cubes around the inside of the cup; chattering and clinks reinforce his idle hand is actually disturbing the tea at all. Rather than focusing on his own tea, he watches Anthony attempt to pierce the top of his smoothie.

“Come on,” Anthony mutters to himself, “come on!”

His blue straw seems much less eager to find its way inside his drink. Clearly, it must be a factory defect. Or the barista gave him a cruddy lid. Something’s up here. No matter how he prods, or jabs, or slides, it won’t agree with him. Never before has banana and plastic given him this much strife in his life.

As time crawls on, Steven’s smirk becomes increasingly annoying. Anthony wants nothing more than the fruity satisfaction of his drink and to resume his date. Well, it’s not a formal date, but with the number of times he’s stared into Steven’s eyes or thought about kissing him, it might as well be.

Anthony’s hands are clammy and clumsy, and Steven is unable to hold his laughter back much longer. It’s not his day, clearly. Such poor performance can only be attributed to the grey skies and the rain cascading along the floor (in much the same way he wishes his fingertips could caress Steven’s skin), and nothing to do with his ineptitude.

“Firstly,” Steven cuts in, “it’s the wrong way up.”

Anthony pauses, perplexed. “It’s a straw. There’s no such thing as a wrong way to hold a straw.”

Steven takes an extended sip from his tea, making sure Anthony takes in the proficiency of his straw skills. The green straw slurps and rattles against the lid of Steven’s cup as he drinks.

“You’re **sure** about that?”

Anthony lowers his head, resuming the attack on his lid. The conversation has fallen quiet, and the only thing preventing silence is the rapid tack-tack-tack of blue straw against plastic.

Anthony finally admits defeat. He presents the dented blue straw and sealed smoothie onto their table.

Steven sets his drink down and sweeps Anthony’s up with a shake of the head. He flips the straw between his fingers and makes sure Anthony is watching for this spectacular display of plastic puncturing.

“Easy,” Steven says.

“I bet you won’t do it first try,” Anthony says. He’s leaning on one arm, hand under his chin, waiting for Steven’s failure.

“How much?”

A fistful of change slides across the table towards Steven. He can’t be bothered to count it, because no matter the result, Anthony would never let him actually take it. A crumpled five dollar note and dressing of quarters separate a drink from its handsome owner. Steven knows what he must do.

The cup, holding the blue straw close, re-joins the table. It laughs at Anthony’s petty remark, and at the effort he exhausted in trying what Steven does without a second thought. Reluctantly, Anthony takes his cup, change, and pride from the table, and quietly sips away. The bananas and strawberries taste somewhat bitter.

“You cheated,” Anthony remarks in between gulps.

“I–What?”

“You cheated.”

Steven releases the green straw from between his lips and averts his attention to Anthony’s eyes.

“Practised.”

Steven smiles wider.

“Arrest me right now,” Steven says semi-seriously, “for I have broken the law of the straw.” Anthony knows he is joking in the purest sense, but can’t shake the feeling Steven might be conveying something sexier.

“You dirty girl,” Anthony teases, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Steven almost chokes on a mouthful of tea. Sometimes Anthony needs to know that things they say on recording shouldn’t reappear in casual conversation. Anthony giggles, raising his eyebrows and taking a deeper slurp of smoothie.

“Try me,” Steven soughs.

They both snicker into their drinks to the horrified glances and grunts of an elderly couple. Maybe he should take his own unspoken advice.

The green straw throttles violently against Steven’s cup as his tea supply runs dry. He curses softly under his breath. It was too good of a tea to run out this soon. Anthony’s cup is still half-full from all the time he whittled away on straw attempts.

Steven checks his phone. Its clock is screaming at him to return home and do responsible things, and it has been for the past few hours whilst Steven walked through town with Anthony, hand-in-hand. Sunlight is creeping away under the horizon. The screen is littered with notifications and unread text messages, begging to be replied to.

“I’ve got to go,” Steven says.

Anthony pulls a disappointed face, like that of a puppy who thinks it will never see its owners again. It’s a face he should be accustomed to, but it still manages to pluck the strings of his heart and sing its comforting song. He lets it play out in his mind.

“Don’t. Not yet.”

Steven places his hands on Anthony’s (his cooler, and Anthony’s sweatier). Anthony’s upper lip trembles. Legs full of resent and tiredness, Steven painfully stands, sustaining the contact of his hands. He smiles.

“We can do this again.”

“We’d better,” seethes Anthony. “I’ve never got to the second date.”

Steven grins and makes his goodbyes, shuffling his hands into his pants. The door bell rings as it snaps shut, leaving Anthony alone at the table.

He pulls both straws out of their cups, and retries poking both into his cup. The blue one struggles again, but the green shows far less resistance. Rigged. Every bit of it. Anthony knew he had a disadvantage somewhere. He grumbles, sliding the green straw into his cup and savouring the last drops of sugary goodness.

He soon follows Steven’s act and leaves the table, dumping their empty cups into a bin on the way out. The outdoor street is pale and uneven, and Anthony makes the long trek to his car. Huddled forwards, the straws poke out of his coat pocket, free to breathe in the wind.


End file.
